Maybe He Could Pretend She was Standing for Him
by CollegeFemale
Summary: My first ever GoT fanfic... this is a SanSan story. It's a one-shot about Sandor's thoughts after the tournament in episode 5 of season 1.. I might make a series of one-shots about Sandor's thoughts after different key SanSan moments. PLEASE review.. if it sucks PLEASE let me know so that I can fix things :)


Maybe he Could Pretend she was Standing for Him

_Damn it._ _What in seven hells is wrong with me?_ Sandor Clegane thought to himself while leaving the tournament. _Why the hell did I step in? Why did I interfere? I should have let my brother kill that pompous flower-giver. _

A small voice spoke up inside of him, _You saved him for _her_, you idiot._

_I don't know what you're talking about._

_ Yes you do… you saw him hand her that flower, and it burned you up inside, but it doesn't change the fact that you saved him for her. You saved him because you knew that his death would bring her sadness. _Sandor took the opportunity to kick a chair that happened to be sitting out beside the road. The chair splintered and shattered. Some passersby jumped at the outburst.

It was all that Knight of fucking Flowers' fault. If the idiot hadn't tried to cheat Gregor, then Gregor wouldn't have tried to kill him, and the little bird wouldn't have made that noise.. the tiny gasp of fear and worry that had sent Sandor charging in. He had to admit that it had felt nice to challenge Gregor, even if it had been to save that pretty boy, even if it had been cut short by the King.

He had made it back to his chambers by this point, and he sat down on his bed and pulled out his wine-skin. The stag-whelp had dismissed him for the afternoon—until the feast tonight. So why shouldn't he drink a little? He wanted to rest before tonight but needed the help of the wine to help him doze.

The wine brought his inhibition-lowered mind back to the Stark girl. Lady Sansa… and what a lady she was. He had been surprised by her beauty upon their first meeting in Winterfell. He couldn't stop himself from staring whenever he saw her. Of course, he tried to rein it in, lest Lord Eddard noticed his gazing. He also found himself admiring her sense of duty; he knew he frightened the girl, hell he frightened everyone, but whenever confronted with his presence, she always followed all of the proper courtesies. It pleased him; most of the nobles simply chose to ignore him.

He thought about while they were on the King's Road. Back when Ser Ilyn had frightened the girl more than he ever had. It had made him happy to step in to help… he had truly meant to pacify the girl, and yet it had only been when the stag-whelp had stepped up that she acted unafraid. Bastard.

While thinking about the events of the King's Road, he couldn't help but to think about the poor girl's pet, the direwolf. Cersei had been a real bitch that night. The girl's wolf hadn't even been there when the whelp had been hurt. Sandor didn't believe it had been unprovoked. A dog—even a direwolf—doesn't attack for no reason. No, they attack out of fear, defense or hunger. If the wolf had been hungry, the whelp wouldn't have survived, and what did a direwolf have to fear from a whelp? That left one thing. That wolf had been defending its cub, the little one, Arya. Yeah, that's what happened. The whelp had threatened the girl, and her wolf had defended her. After all, it had been the whelp's sword arm that had been chewed on. Dogs… they're loyal 'till the end.

Sandor's mind wandered again to the events of the joust. After the Tyrell lad had grabbed his hand and proclaimed him the _real_ winner, the people had stood and applauded and cheered. Even Sansa Stark. Sandor wasn't a fool though, he knew all of those people were standing and applauding Ser Loras' gesture. How noble of him to toss The Hound a bone.

But in those few moments when he saw Sansa Stark standing, jittery from excitement, clapping and cheering with lust clouding her eyes, it had been nice to pretend—even for a moment—that she had been standing for him.

It was this thought that finally lulled Sandor into a light, wine-induced sleep. He dreamed of little birds and hounds chasing stag-whelps and crushing flowers all throughout his slumber.


End file.
